Dark Horse: Bad Boy Cowboy Romance (3 page)

The other men laughed along with Marsden at the punchline, although not nearly as hard as my future husband to be seemed to be laughing. Clearly, they weren't as deep into the free booze as Marsden.

I stepped up, rubbing my hand along Marsden's upper arm to let him know that I was present. "Hi honey," I greeted him with a little smile. "Everything going well over here?"

Marsden Guilefort turned to me, his grin staying on his face, although his eyes had to adjust for a second before they focused on me. "Jillian! My beautiful, classy fiancée!" he boomed out, throwing an arm around me. "Honey, you should have heard this story! It's hilarious!"

Despite the man's overly loud voice, I couldn't help smiling up at him. Drunk or sober, Marsden Guilefort was absolutely irrepressible. From the moment I'd first met him, the man reminded me of a big grizzly bear, albeit one with a happy smile on his face.

He stood a couple inches over six feet, towering over almost everyone else in the room. But Marsden was no beanpole - he still had the broad shoulders and thick forearms from his college days when he'd rowed for University of Virginia. His belly may have grown a little since his college days, but he still radiated strength and power.

He always tried to smooth his brown hair back over his head, but I could already see that it was slightly mussy from him running his fingers through it. He'd shaved this morning, at my insistence, but I could already see the start of a five o'clock shadow forming on his face. Likewise, even the backs of his hands showed a thin layer of brown hair where they emerged from the cuffs of his suit. His suit already showed some creases and his tie was askew, but I just couldn't imagine Marsden any other way. He never managed to keep up his formal appearance for long.

"Marsden, dear, I think that the race is going to be starting soon," I told my fiancé, wrapping my hands around one of his arms. "Perhaps we should move forward towards the front windows, so we can see Merlot run?"

Marsden beamed down at me, although he flapped one hand at my suggestion. "Ah, no one's here for the horse races," he boomed out. "I'm sure that your horse will do fine! Now, let me get back to my story..."

My smile froze for a moment, and I tugged a little harder on Marsden's arm. "Honey, this is very important to me," I insisted, fighting hard to keep my face from showing any annoyance. "You did help pay the fees for Merlot to run, you know."

Marsden let out a loud sigh, but he nodded. "Okay, okay," he gave in, setting his drink down on the bar with a loud clink. I winced, but thankfully the glass didn't shatter. "Now, let's see," he went on, looking around nearsightedly. "Where did I happen to put down my cane..."

I spotted the ridiculous thing leaning up against the side of the bar. "There, dear," I indicated, trying not to sigh.

For some reason, my fiancé insisted that this cane made him look the true part of a gentleman. I'd managed to convince him to give up on his ratty slippers and that ridiculously short bathrobe he used to wear around the house, but he still clung stubbornly to this cane, insisting on bringing it with him to every formal occasion we attended.

The thing wasn't even attractive, I thought to myself with a little mental groan as Marsden snatched up the cane. The cane was constructed of black wood, with silver wrapped around the last foot of the rod. The handle was also silver, sculpted into the shape of an eagle's talon, clutching a horn carved of bone. Marsden always insisted that this represented the cattle from which his family had made its fortune, and he carried it everywhere with him.

With cane firmly in hand, Marsden turned and smiled back down to me. "Okay, my little high society woman," he called out. "Let's go watch your pony run a couple of laps!"

Even those words couldn't bring me down, however, as I led the man through the crowd towards the big windows that overlooked the Virginia Derby track. Instead, I could feel my heartbeat quickening in my chest. The race was about to start, and although Merlot's performance was now out of my hands, I couldn't help feeling as though his fate on the race was up to me.

We made our way to the front of the crowd, getting a good vantage position. Marsden was already glancing around at the people standing nearby, clearly looking to resume telling jokes, but I kept my eyes glued down to the starting line of the race.

This was it, I thought to myself. Come on, Merlot! You can win this!

Chapter four

A few minutes later, the announcer finished his introductions of all the horses, and a hush fell over the entire derby stadium as the horses prepared to start. Despite the thick glass windows between me and the track, I imagined that I could hear the horses huffing and stamping their hooves, anxious to run.

"It's so exciting, isn't it?"

The voice, speaking up right next to me, nearly made me jump out of my skin before I recovered. I turned and brought my hand around in a fake little punch, smacking at the woman standing next to me.

"Dolly! You scared me!" I exclaimed, putting on a mock glare directed at the laughing young woman beside me.

"Scared you? Serves you right, Gilly!" the young woman fired back, tossing back waves of curly black hair over her shoulder as she grinned back at me.

I couldn't keep up the angry expression for more than a second. My face melted into a smile as I reached out to hug the young woman. "Dolly, why didn't you come say hi to me earlier? I could have used your help to bail me out of some of the super stuffy conversations here!" I confided, leaning in.

"Trust me, I could have used your help, as well!" my friend replied, waggling her eyebrows conspiratorially to me as she leaned in to return the hug. "Seriously. When are you going to find a man, Dahlia? When are you going to settle down, Dahlia? When are you going to stop driving that beat-up pickup and start attending all the art societies, Dahlia? It's exhausting!"

I laughed as the young woman let out a loud huff of exasperation. I'd known Dahlia since we were both barely able to talk, and for as long as I could remember, she'd always insisted on forging her own way, never letting anyone else dictate her life choices. She'd grown up as a total tomboy, spending more time chasing after trucks than pining after boys. She still proclaimed herself to be "perennially single, and loving every minute of it".

Right now, as she released me from the hug, Dahlia turned and snagged a couple of champagne flutes off of the tray of a passing waiter. She held one out to me, and I gratefully accepted it from her.

"So," the young woman said after a minute, gesturing down at the track spread out in view before us. "Who's running?"

I pointed down at where the horses stamped and snorted with pent-up energy in the paddocks before the race began. "Merlot, down there in the fourth stall. He's the Monteclaire entry for the year, and my personal horse."

Dahlia raised her glass up in a mock toast to the horse. "Here's to Merlot, then - a fine name, at least!"

I chuckled as I clinked my own glass with my best friend's.

As Dahlia took a long pull of champagne, I examined my best friend sidelong out the corner of my eye. Dahlia Remont, the outrageous brat of high society, I thought fondly to myself. Dahlia's family as nearly as old as my own, and she never declined an invitation to one of these classy events - but once at the event, she didn't hold back with her acerbic tongue or tendency to overindulge on both food and drink, often leading to a memorable, if not exactly newspaper-acceptable, night. I could still recall the last New Year's party, where she managed to get her hands on two bottles of fifty-year-old champagne and popped both the corks with scarcely thirty seconds until midnight, spraying the shrieking crowd as she pretended to "attempt" to control the splashes of frothy bubbles. "My last bad act of the year, before it's all forgiven," she called the act merrily when the angry and sticky guests yelled at her.

Somehow, despite her wild adventures at the parties, Dahlia still looked great, I noted with only the slightest little twinge of envy. She still wore her hair in a mass of tangled curls, but the tumble of thick hair looked natural on her, matching her wild and carefree personality. Even though I almost never caught her without some sort of snack close at hand, her figure remained boyishly slim, accentuated by a wide belt around her waist that cinched her robin's egg blue dress tight just above her hips. With that broad smile almost always on her lips, she sparkled, and I had no problem understanding why she never seemed to get annoyed at perennially staying single.

As she lowered her glass, Dahlia glanced past me at Marsden, and I saw her smile drop away for a moment. "So, Marsden, how's the wedding planning going?" she called out to the man on my other side.

I shot a brief but strong little glare at Dahlia for poking at my fiancé for this, but Marsden just shrugged. "I dunno," he replied, tossing back his own drink. "I'm letting Jillian handle all of that woman stuff."

"Really?" my best friend needled. "Not helping out at all?"

It took a moment, but I saw Marsden's eyebrows draw down and together. "If she asked me to do something, I would!" he growled, turning to face Dahlia - again, still with me caught in between the pair. "And you're one to talk-"

"Hey, hey!" I interrupted, waving my free hand. "Stop arguing, you two!" I made sure that my anger was aimed more towards Dahlia, since she was the one who'd initially brought things up. "Besides, the race is about to start!"

At least this was true, and the roar of the crowd outside our glass VIP box was rising. Both Dahlia and Marsden looked as though they wanted to keep on sparring with each other, but I kept up my annoyed expression until, grumbling, they both turned back forward to look out the glass windows at the track below.

The race was about to start! The announcer had stepped up, brandishing the starting pistol, and I could practically feel the tension and energy of the penned horses from here. The jockeys on the backs of the horses were leaning forward, getting ready for a perfect start out the gate.

The announcer lifted the gun, getting ready. I tossed back the rest of my champagne in a single gulp and thrust the glass out behind me towards the nearest waiter, never turning away from the sight for a moment.

Oh god. I could feel my stomach doing flips inside my torso. The Monteclaires hadn't even placed in a race for years, much less won anything, but I had high hopes for this year. Merlot was young but full of fire and energy, and I had done my best to train him for this moment. I thought he did have a chance, at least.

But it all came down to this one race.

The next few seconds would determine whether I left the track today with my head held high, basking in the praise from the rest of the high ladies and gentlemen in attendance here today, or if I'd have to slink out through the back, hoping that I could avoid most of the commiseration. If I lost, I knew that most of the ladies and gentlemen would offer their apologies to me, but I would simply have to stand and listen and take it all, without any way to truly make myself feel any better.

Come on, Merlot, I hissed to myself. You can do this! Just one last, powerful, all-out run to the finish line, and then you can go home and run around in the fields behind my farmhouse as much as you want! A million sugar cubes!

The announcer fell silent. For just a moment, a hush fell over the entire stadium as probably close to a thousand Virginia Derby attendees leaned forward, many of them clutching the tickets that marked their wagers.

The man standing down above the track lifted the starter pistol higher up in the air - and pulled the trigger.

The bang of the pistol echoed across the Derby arena in unison with the clang as the gates blocking the horses into their pens dropped.

And then, with a roar that rebounded back from the throats of every spectator in the crowds, the horses surged forward, out of the gate and barreling down the track.

This was it. I was barely aware that I was shouting, that I kept on bouncing up and down on my toes, cheering loudly for Merlot.

Come on! This is it!

Chapter five

I cheered wildly, loudly, as the horses came pounding out of the gate, their hooves throwing up little clouds of dirt and dust as they charged forward down the first stretch, heading for the first turn.

And sure enough, I saw my own horse, Merlot, come pulling out into the front of the pack! With his burgundy coloring that matched his namesake, he was impossible to miss. He looked strong and sure, charging up near the front of the pack.

The pack of horses reached the first turn. For a moment, I almost cursed at the jockey as he didn't quite take the curve on the inside - but then I saw him use Merlot's speed to pull around some of the inner horses as they became tangled up trying to not collide with each other, and I cheered once again.

Across the back stretch, Merlot galloped second from the lead! By this point, the horses were starting to stretch out a bit, putting some space between themselves and their competitors, and Merlot solidified his position in second place. I had to remind myself to keep on breathing, barely aware that I was holding my breath in as I watched.

The second turn. Once again, the jockey led Merlot out a little wider - but barely halfway around the turn, he whipped the reins and spurred Merlot on to greater speed.